When It's Gone
by Revhead
Summary: Merlin keeps rubbing his neck, and it's driving Arthur crazy. The action he takes is purely to end the source of his irritation. Any happiness it might bring to his servant is totally coincidental and completely unintended. Honest.


**When It's Gone**

For what seemed like the millionth time that day, Merlin's hand absently snaked up to his neck and rubbed it, before returning to the task before him.

It was one of those things that was barely noticeable but, _once_ noticed, would continue being noticed each and every time it happened. Arthur was sure that even Merlin himself had not realised he was doing it yet. But Arthur had spotted the motion early that morning just after Merlin had opened the window to let in the gentle breeze, and then again in between Merlin opening the cupboard and pulling out a shirt for Arthur to wear that day, and then _again_ as he moved from smoothing out the bed sheets to plumping up the pillows.

He had dismissed it at first, thinking that it was a little odd but on the whole rather unimportant. And then, as the day wore on and he just _kept_ seeing it happen, he took to trying his best to ignore it. Of course, the attempt had failed miserably.

It had started distracting him at inconvenient moments. When he was supposed to be training against Sir Leon, a challenging opponent on the best of days who demanded all of Arthur's attention just to keep up with let alone best, he spotted the action out of the corner of his eye. Leon was able to land a blow that he really shouldn't have, and hearing the knight apologise just made Arthur even more irritated. During a council meeting, too, Arthur had zoned out while his father was talking, caught by the unconscious neck-rub of his servant, and Uther had been forced to repeat himself. Needless to say, the king had not been impressed. Not long afterwards, Arthur had been speaking to Guinevere and lost his train of thought when Merlin, hovering off to the side waiting patiently for them to finish, had done it _again._ Arthur had sounded like the bumbling idiot he always accused Merlin of being, and he did not appreciate it in the slightest.

All this was rendered even more irritating by the fact that Merlin was so clearly oblivious to the havoc he was wreaking. Arthur felt he was going to go insane, and it was barely mid-day.

Merlin performed the neck-rub no fewer than twenty-three times as he served Arthur lunch and waited on him as he ate.

"Would you stop _doing_ that!" Arthur had yelled at him, unable to stand it any longer.

"What?" Merlin had replied innocently, looking genuinely perplexed even as his hand once again slipped up to run at his neck.

The explosion of exasperation from his prince had done nothing but confuse Merlin further, and Arthur had found himself incapable of explaining. He sent Merlin off with an impossibly long list of chores to do instead, and set about solving the mystery that was his servant's newly developed, and highly irritating, mannerism.

When he finally stopped to think about it, the answer was obvious.

Merlin's neckerchief was missing.

Merlin had been seen in public without a neckerchief before, of course, and so it took Arthur a few more moments of thought to work out why today should be any different.

A flash of memory came to him.

Running from bandits. Arthur in the lead as usual despite his heavy armour. Legs burning, breath becoming more strained. The sound of their pursuers growing closer, rather than fading as it should.

A choked cry from Merlin.

Turning around to see that his servant had been caught around the neck by a brute of a man and was being dragged backwards, eyes boggling and arms flailing.

Grabbing his hand and yanking him forward.

A moment where Merlin was being pulled in two different directions at once, and a tortured gurgle escaped his throat.

Arthur continuing to try to haul Merlin onwards, because he knows the urgency of their situation, knows that a few more seconds will spell their doom.

Merlin's free hand scrabbling frantically at his neck.

The sudden release of pressure which almost sends them both stumbling but doesn't quite, as Merlin's neckerchief is ripped away.

Running and not looking back, leaving the scrap of red fabric in the hands of a man who roars in anger at their escape. The distant sound of tearing fabric.

It had not seemed very important at the time, given that in the grand scheme of things what really mattered was the fact that they had both managed to make it back to Camelot alive and unharmed.

But now, upon realising why Merlin was rubbing his neck so frequently, Arthur found himself inexplicitly furious that the neckerchief had been stolen. His servant had precious few possessions to his name, and it was not fair that the crowning jewel of one of his only two odd but fitting outfits had been taken from him. The irrational part of Arthur's brain wanted him to track down the bandit and either reclaim the article of clothing or gain retribution for its loss, but of course that would be utterly ridiculous.

He stewed about the problem for half an hour before coming to the conclusion that he could only be satisfied if the red neckerchief was replaced. By him, personally.

Guinevere looked at him strangely when he asked her to accompany him down to the marketplace, but once he awkwardly explained that it was… unacceptable for his servant to go walking around so underdressed, and so of course since the idiot was incapable of rectifying the situation himself it had fallen to Arthur to do it for him… she had given him an incredible smile that was a mixture of amusement and pride and fondness that made his insides squirm with pleasure.

She helped him pick out fabric that was exactly the right colour, and of far finer quality that the scratchy, faded weave that Merlin's neck had been subjected to before. Once purchased, she fashioned the fabric into a neckerchief that looked just right, and gave it to Arthur with that same smile lingering on her lips.

Excited, although he had no idea why, only knowing that it had nothing to do with the thought of being able to do something for Merlin that would make him happy and bring on that brilliant smile of his – of course not – Arthur waited for his servant in his chambers.

Later than his dinner was _supposed_ to arrive, naturally, Merlin came into the room with a tray balanced haphazardly in one hand and a water jug gripped precariously in the other (Arthur didn't bother to wonder how his servant had possibly managed to open the door on his own).

"You're late," Arthur told him, simply because he always did.

"Sorry, sire," Merlin replied breathlessly, and proceeded to tell a long, convoluted story of how he had managed to end up tardy this time.

He placed the tray and jug down in front of Arthur, set out the cutlery and filled a goblet that was always on hand… and then stepped back from the table, and rubbed his neck.

"Aha!" Arthur said triumphantly.

Merlin looked at him askance.

"I have something for you, Merlin," he announced. "A new responsibility for you. This item I am about to place in your care must be kept clean and in good repair at all times. And you must not lose it. Do I make myself understood?"

Merlin still seemed puzzled, but he obediently gave the necessary, "Yes, sire," in reply.

Arthur grinned, and tossed the neckerchief at him.

Merlin caught it out of reflex, quite accustomed to having things thrown at him by now, and looked down at it in surprise. "What's this?"

"Really, Merlin, you can be very dense sometimes you know. It is a neckerchief." Feeling the need to explain further when Merlin just continued to stare, Arthur expanded. "People wear it. Well, actually, _you_ wear it… I do not know if I have ever seen one on anyone else. To be honest, I do not really think it will catch on, but wear it if you must."

"Why would I wear it?" Merlin asked, startled. "It's yours!"

Yes, it was official, his servant was an idiot. Wasn't it obvious that it was a gift? Honestly, the things that Arthur had to put up with.

"Like I would be seen dead in something like that. No, Merlin, I am afraid you will have to keep it."

Merlin frowned at him, still not quite getting it.

"I believe your own one was lost recently…?" Arthur prompted.

Merlin's eyes widened a bit.

"So I suppose this will just have to serve as its replacement," Arthur concluded.

And… _there_ it was.

Merlin's face split into a wide grin.

He put it on as Arthur watched, smiling all the while, and finally looked _right_ for the first time that day.

"Thanks, Arthur," Merlin said, and there was true, genuine gratitude shining in his eyes, mixed in with a healthy dose of happiness.

Arthur sniffed dismissively. "It was the only thing I could think of that would get you to stop rubbing your neck in that infernal manner all the time. It was driving me crazy!"

Merlin's knowing look made Arthur suspect that his lie had been seen clear through. But that was okay, because he had meant it to be.

That was how their relationship worked, after all.


End file.
